Resident Evil: Revival
by Vergil Diva's chevalier
Summary: Wesker is revived and sent to the B.B.R.C.; a research facility to acquire "special material". However, the B.S.A.A. discovers this and sends B.O.W.-experienced operatives to stop him. M; this story contains scenes of violence and gore. And language.
1. The Bright Bat Research Center

It was hot; the early autumn weather was not yet transitioning to the cold breezes that would drift about the area, now only a warm wind blew, when not insulated by the trees. Though the mountains blocked the wind where they stood, it could still sail about as it pleased from elsewhere, though it had no hope whatsoever of toppling the stout constructs which had stood present for over four-hundred million years.

The trees could be heard blowing with the wind however, and while the mountains stood steadfast against it the trees did not seem to mind compromising. Various birds and other animals could be heard as well, though few could likely tell just how _many _kinds of animals they heard.

The air tasted of sun and humidity, if you were to stand in the open and hold your tongue out in a bright, sunny clearing.

Said humidity was much more prevalent to the senses in relation to one's sensation of touch, as many people were dressed lightly so as not to be over encumbered by the thickness of dampness in the air.

The whole of the blue ridge mountains smelled of pollen and warm showers, which recurred regularly now that the environment had just begun to change to autumn.

Tourists drove up and down blue ridge parkway, heading towards the Shenandoah national park or the great smoky mountains national park, one lying to the north, the other to the south. Still others, who were either interested in its nature or merely wanting something to do, drove to the Bright Bat Research Center, or B.B.R.C. which could be reached from the four-hundred and sixty-nine mile-long scenic highway.

Welcoming visitors, it offered tours of its facilities as well as educational pamphlets on its mission; "discovering the keys to the future". Simply put, its purpose is to study various species of flora and fauna present in the world and try to absorb from them what it can so that people's lives may be made easier.

It's facilities, both those accessible and _in_accessible to the public were located on the same site. Though _in _might be a bit more accurate; the research center was built into the mountain. The reception building, the front most one, was walled-in on the sides by a thin stretch of mountain, which left a clearing behind them for the tourist buildings and small park to inhabit, before delving deeper into the mountainside.

Out front lay an expanse of flat parking lot which was inhabited by several dozen cars, the balance between tourist and staff cars being nearly equal. Framing the parking lot were several trees, which helped add some personality to the otherwise faceless entrance area.

The entire front of the reception building was crystal-clear glass which both helped give the building an open, warm feeling to tourists as well as act like a natural clock for those within to see what time of day it was. The walls which framed the other three sides of the building were bright grey stone, and the roof held a skylight that helped illuminate the large frontal reception room when the sun was overhead.

Within, the floor was untarnished white tile and the walls were just as white and unstained. There were chairs with cushions organized in open spaces that made up two-thirds of the room, while a desk, receptionist, and an archway behind both of them were the other one-third.

The desk was nearly like a podium, and the receptionist would stand behind it, smiling, waiting for tourists to approach and sign their names in the guestbook before being taken on a tour. The archway was large, big enough to accommodate groups both moving in and out at the same time as tourists walked through it both ways.

The current receptionist watched, smiling like usual as more tourists opened the glass doors and entered while some new cars drove into the parking lot, one of them in particular standing out; a large van that looked like it could carry a squad of _soldiers _in it if they were properly organized.

Her eyes remained on it as the large vehicle drove into a parking space and came to a stop. It was a large, white van and looked like the kind you would see in the movies where someone were kidnapped. Similarly, the men in the driver's and passenger's seats looked like some manner of military types.

It was warm outside, as well as in the reception building. She was wearing a skirt and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. Yet despite the distance between them, as well as the warm environment, the receptionist felt a coldness coming from the van.

**(TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER)**

The trees had yet to change color, but a few leaves had fallen from each tree from the wind and due to the large number of trees in the area, leaves blew freely about the area, carried in the warm breeze.

Across the road drifted some, while most stayed only amongst their elder plant-folk, too afraid to dare out onto the hot pavement which held the attention of moving cars. _One _leaf, however, fearlessly began to make the travel across the road. The wind was merciful, and aided it in its quest. It neared the yellow line in the middle of the road- and was crashed into by a moving vehicle.

The vehicle; a large white van, continued down its path along the road, ignorant of its brutal refusal of the leaf's wish. The sunlight was reflected off of its white sides, like it was refusing nature's intentions just as much as it had the leaf's.

It drove the speed limit; no more, no less. The occupants wanted to get to their destination as soon as possible, but they weren't willing to put up with getting pulled over by a ranger or the like to get there.

The air about the van smelled like either exhaust or gasoline, depending on whether you were in front of it or behind it, and those that came from the side learned quickly not to do so.

Tasting just as foul as it smelled, the poisoned space around the van was just as undesirable to taste as it was to smell.

The van's frame was hard and cold, unlike the warmed trees of the forest or the leaves which dared not cross the road again as it sped down the road. Within it the environment denied the environment even _further_; the air-conditioning on high to keep the occupants' combined body-heat as well as the sun's rays which made it through the windshield at bay.

In front the driver wiped a small amount of sweat from his brow, being one of the only two that got ample sunlight shining down on him, as well as his ample muscle's natural insulation adding to his uncomfortable state. However, he showed not an ounce of disapproval on his face as they continued driving towards their destination.

His brown hair was cut short, looking much like a military cut, and his large, muscled body was clad in a tight-fitting white t-shirt as well as brown cargo pants, all of the pockets of which had a necessary tool occupying them, adding to his "practical" personality.

His face was stern and strong, yet only remained so due to his own inner strength. The outside must be kept tough, and the inside even tougher.

Beside him was a man who contrasted him heavily enough that one might liken it to a basketball player and a child accompanying one another.

He was muscled as well, though not as thickly, and his face had the unshakable confidence that the other man's conveyed, but his demeanor was much different than the serious man beside him.

On his head was a dark red beret, covering the top of his dark brown hair and helping to lead the eyes up from his nearly always grinning face. He wore sunglasses with a tan tint to them as he occasionally looked up to the sun as if challenging its amazing glare.

He wore a black skin-tight short-sleeved shirt, made of polypropylene which helps maintain body temperature, and his pants were black and grey camouflage, a military-style belt through its loops.

His hands were clad in fingerless gloves which gave his palms greater traction while holding objects. Quick scratching sounds were heard as he enjoyed cleaning out what dirt he could from his short fingernails with a knife.

The two were occupying the same vehicle, and had both been in military service, but at their cores they couldn't have been any more different. That was what the driver, Harley Boyd, thought as he drove the group's van down the road.

He remained silent on his thoughts, however, while the other man, Derik Tanner, spoke up.

"So, what's your story, Harley?" He asked, though his curiosity seemed only skin-deep.

The big soldier decided how to respond before actually doing so, not wanting to be impulsive.

"There isn't much to say really."

"Don't kid me; I've heard a story or two about you." The man responded, seeming amused, pointing his knife at him playfully like an accusing finger.

He concentrated more on driving than the conversation, though he noticed just a twinge of discomfort creep into his mind.

"What kind of stories would those be?"

The man chuckled as he returned to "cleaning" his nails; he had already finished and now was obviously just doing so to fight back boredom. It was a strange trait to see a veteran have, since they were supposed to be heavily disciplined. He shouldn't act in such a way. Though then again, maybe Harley was just being too strict. He had been coaching football players too long, this guy could likely joke around and be serious enough to get the job done at the same time.

"Well, it depends. Some of them are about how great of a soldier you were. Others were about how you fought for every rank you got, even though your dad was a general, while still _others _are about your time as a drill instructor."

His hands just barely tightened on the steering wheel, but his face remained the same.

"You never know which ones are true and which ones aren't." He commented, in general.

The man chuckled again, drawing the knife away from his nails.

"Yeah, usually not. But there's a _particular _story that I _know _is true; something about you killing some kiddy trainees when they jumped you one night." He spoke, sticking the knife back into its sheath on his belt.

Harley Boyd sighed on the inside.

"That one is true. Though I regret to admit it."

Tanner shook his head as if in either amusement or disappointment as he looked over his shoulder at one of the occupants of the seats in the back of the van.

"How about you?" He asked a man in back whom Harvey couldn't see while his eyes were on the road.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"I'm from New Jersey."

Tanner chuckled once more as his gaze returned to face out the windshield.

"Well, that pretty much says everything doesn't it?"

Harley's face drew tighter slightly.

"_Is this really a highly-trained team?" _He thought.

It wasn't like soldiers never joked with each other; back when he'd been in the army his fellow soldiers and he would joke around. But this mission was supposed to be of the utmost importance; shouldn't they be acting in a more disciplined manner? These men all seemed like they had the personalities of _mercenaries _more than normal soldiers.

Tanner and, from the sound of his voice, "Jet" Morrison, both seemed liked trained serial killers kept sedated to an extent with medication to keep them from going into hysterics.

Meanwhile, Dalca and the leader of their squad seemed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum; cold, calculating heartless types with no caring for their country or their comrades.

If he had to guess, Harley would suppose the two most likely people for him to find on this kind of a mission would be the latter ones, but still… it made him unsure as to the nature of their purpose in this place.

"How about you?" Morrison responded to Tanner, gaining his attention again. Not that it was difficult; to them the passing trees and pleasant sights all looked either boring, or they were desensitized to such sights.

"Were you in some super-special secret unit, or do you just like nice hats?"

Tanner chuckled once more.

"The marines, if that counts."

"You mean those guys that don't die no matter what and kill their enemies with wrestling moves?"

"Nah, that's just movie stuff; in real life we're much more badass." He joked.

Both of them laughed and Tanner looked back at him again.

"So, you're the guy who's obsessed with explosives?"

"That'd be me. Whether it blows up a city or fires a cap gun, I'm lovin' it."

"Gotcha."

"Here, have one of these." Morrison offered, giving the man something. Harvey glanced at it, and saw that it was some kind of gummy snack.

"What about it?"

"Eat it; it's good."

"This won't blow my head off or anything will it?"

"'course not."

With a shrug, the man popped it in his mouth and ate it. He blinked a bit in surprise and swallowed the tiny piece of food.

"It's bursting with flavor, right?"

"Smartass."

Morrison chuckled again and Tanner shook his head, his grin upturned to show his amusement.

Harley noticed, with some appreciation, that the repeated environment was changing a bit up ahead; the line of trees and shrubs on the left was broken off as a road headed in towards a parking lot. Out by the road stood a sign which read "B.B.R.C."

"We're here." He announced, Tanner noticing it and seeming pleased at the van's "boring" ride ending.

"Alright, cut the chatter, we're moving out." Came Dalca in a stern, resolute tone.

"_At the very least he's disciplined."_ Harley thought while pulling into the small road to the parking lot, the smooth sound of the pavement momentarily sounding gruffer as the wheels drove through some gravel to get there.

The reception building was just as they'd been told; stone for three walls and glass for one, and from the looks of it the archway was exactly where their briefing had said it would be. As well, the parking lot was nearly full, just as had been predicted.

There was one thing he did not understand, and he had voiced it at the briefing; why was this mission to take place during the day? At the briefing the men had been told to go retrieve a special kind of "material", but they, or at least _he _had not been told the _details _of how they were to do so; was this instillation going to be cooperative, or was it hostile? What was the nature of the material? Was it toxic or otherwise dangerous?

They pulled into a parking space and after moving the shift to "park" Harley pulled the keys out of the ignition and put them in a pants pocket.

Both he and Tanner opened their doors and got out of the van, closing the same doors behind them as they were welcomed by the warm sun. The air was thick with humidity and Harley rubbed some more sweat off his brow as the two went around their respective sides to the back of the van.

Harley looked around, seeing all of the tourists walking to and from their cars, hoping that they wouldn't be put in any danger, regardless of how this mission would go. It was a soldier's job to fight for their country, and dying was sometimes a part of that. But civilians should never be hurt due to a military operation; so long as they were non-combatants, they shouldn't be harmed.

Each man took hold of a door's handle and pulled open the van's back-doors, filling the inside with sunlight and illuminating the three men in back as well as the oversized hiking packs that say amongst them. Each of which could easily hold a normal-sized backpack and still have room for more.

"Whoa, whoa! Somebody turned the _floodlights _on! Either that or I just missed seeing the crash sight of an MOAB." Morrison joked, putting on a pair of sunglasses as he hopped out of the van.

"What's that?" Tanner asked while pulling one of the large hiking packs along the floor of the van and tossing it to Harley, who caught with both to keep it from tearing due to the weight inside.

"MOAB, mother of all bombs."

"Ha, how unpretentious."

"Ooh! A thirteen-letter word! You should be on jeopardy!"

"Haha, yeah; _I'll_ show Trebek to get rid of his moustache."

Harley slung the hiking pack across his back while pulling another from the floor of the van, Morrison looking about the area while pulled on his own pack.

"Be more careful with those packs; if you toss them around like toys they're liable to break." Instructed Dalca as his fair-skinned face emerged from one of the few remaining shadows and the man stepped down from the van's floor.

His full name was Grigore Dalca, a black-haired man from somewhere else in the world. Harley could hear a bit of an accent in his tone but didn't know accents past Hispanic and other common ones enough to distinguish where he hailed from.

Despite the other team members dressing at least moderately casually, Dalca was wearing faded grey pants and a long-sleeve shirt of the same kind, both of which looked, and were likely intended to help break up his form while in cover; the intention of camouflage. His pants bore no metal buttons that shone out and the belt that he wore was the same color as the pants and shirt, with the boots being grey as well.

The sun was shining brightly, and Dalca had been in the back of the van sitting on a seat that had been installed in it for several hours. However, despite both facts, when he got out of the van he did not so much as squint. The sun's light seemed to dull when it reflected off of his ice blue eyes and he reminded Harley of the stereotypical "leader" of a group of villains in an action movie.

"Sorry, boss." Tanner spoke, though it was obviously underlying with a mocking intent.

Dalca seemed only just barely disgruntled at this and walked several steps away from the van, carrying a hiking pack behind him as well and checking his watch.

"We're on-schedule, but let's not fall behind."

Tanner chuckled, hiking up the pack on his back a bit as he began walking towards the reception building.

"You're not the leader of the unit, _are _you?" He asked rhetorically with a grin as he passed the darker-haired man. A cold gaze followed him, though Dalca did not show enough emotion for it to be called a glare.

Harley wondered if the two's conflicting personalities would impede the mission. No, they had been assigned to this operation; there was no way men would be chosen for it who could not get past their own issues for the sake of the assignment.

He looked back into the van, at the only person who had yet to come out of it; their leader. He was still seated and only now began to rise, giving off the impression that he had intentionally delayed his departure so that he would be the last one to do so.

He grinned as well, though it did not seem as outwardly aggressive as Tanner's. The sunlight bounced off of his gelled-back blonde hair and average-colored skin. He carried no pack, just a long case that was shaped to appear as it accommodated a hunting rifle.

Contrasting Harley's stern brown eyes, Morrison's always excited reddish-brown colored ones, Tanner's challenging emerald green and Dalca's heartless ice blue, this man's eyes could not be seen at all through his mirrored black sunglasses.

He pushed them up slightly and his grin grew slightly bigger as he stepped down from the van, looking at the sight before him as if he had taken a picture of it before he'd arrived; he looked in complete control. That was not to say that the rest of the team looked undisciplined; they all bore a confidence to them in different shades, but this man… it felt as if he controlled _everything_. Harley had not ever met a man like him; even his _father's _control and influence had not given him the impression this man did.

"_He is definitely the first choice for a mission like this." _Harley thought as they all approached the reception building.


	2. Infiltration

Stacy watched the men approach the reception building, most of them carrying heavy-looking hiking packs. She noticed, however, that the coldness she'd felt did not seem to be coming from the _van_, but from _them_.

"_That's silly. They look like they're just a few army buddies taking a trip together." _She reasoned as the large man in front, his face appearing chiseled out of rock, opened a door and entered. The others followed behind and she noticed, as the sound of their boots echoed throughout the reception room, that a blonde man with sunglasses was approaching the desk on their behalf.

She got out of her "funk" and snapped to attention, greeting the man with the same cheerful, one dimensional smile she greeted everyone at this job.

"Hello, sir." She spoke respectfully.

He seemed mildly amused, though for what reason she was unsure.

"My companions and I are traveling about the area and we thought it would be an interesting experience to take a tour here. Is that possible?"

The smoothness and confidence of his voice reminded her of velour or perhaps silk. Though strangely at the same time she thought of a knife being held beneath that material, ready to stab her if she denied his request. She shook off the silly feeling.

"Of course; we offer tours Monday through Thursday, from twelve pm to six pm. How many are in your group?" She asked for the sake of formality.

"Five."

"Okay, five adults."

She looked down at the log book and pretended to be reading what it would cost.

"Please sign your names in the guestbook, and that will be fifteen dollars per adult for a total of seventy-five dollars."

He pulled money from a pocket and handed her exactly seventy five dollars with only two seconds or so.

"I see you're familiar with the tours." She joked light-heartedly.

"I heard from a reliable source that there a number of interesting products and sights at this facility." He responded; she got the feeling there was an inside joke related to it.

"Alright, before we begin the tour I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave your hiking packs and your case with our security staff in the office. You can pick them all up when the tour is finished.

"Are there safety concerns here?" He questioned, seeming genuinely curious.

"Oh, nothing to worry about. But we _are _on the cutting edge of exploring evolution, and some people would really like to know what we know."

"Or have what you have." He added, his grin deepening.

It put her on-guard a bit, though she didn't let it show.

"Exactly. I'm glad you understand."

"Where is the security office located?" He asked her, showing Stacy her reflection in his mirrored sunglasses.

"Just through the archway, I'll just tell your guide you need to drop your bags off when she gets here."

His face moved upward a bit. He seemed to notice something behind her.

"What a coincidence, I believe a guide just became available." He mentioned as one of their guides, Amy Turner brought out a group of tourists.

"Thank you for coming! I hope you enjoyed it and will come again!" She spoke with the necessary cheer. Afterwards her attention drifted to the man in sunglasses.

The other men signed their names. The last man, a fellow with a dark-red beret, jabbed the pen into the piece of paper slightly as he finished signing, as if stabbing the paper.

"Amy, these gentlemen would like a tour. Can you show them where the security office is so they can unload their luggage?"

"Of course, right this way gentlemen."

They began to follow her, when Stacy saw the large, fixed-blade knife in a horizontal sheath along the back of his pants.

"Excuse me, sir? The man in the beret?" She called after him.

He turned back towards her, an uncurious look on his face.

"You're also going to have to leave your knife there as well."

The man turned away again, giving a gesture that he understood as they did so, and she returned to the business at hand.

"Hello, sir." She spoke respectfully to another man that approached the desk.

* * *

They walked through the archway and then a short hall, the walls and ceiling of which were entirely block-glass. The translucent constructs allowed Derik Tanner and the others to see the small park outside the "tourist" building. The entire area, park and all, was enclosed within the mountain's bounds, so while outside there was soft grass to step in and plenty of sunlight with which to see, there was no getting out of this place unless you went through the archway.

Past the short glass hallway was another large room with an all-glass ceiling that perfectly illuminated everything, while the walls were more like pillars of stone here and there to support the glass roof, while leaving plenty of space for tourists to wander outside and sit on a bench in the sun or something else like that.

"_Teh, are these people really happy just walking around in glass rooms taking pictures all day? They need to experiment more." _Derik thought in amusement as they walked further into the room.

There was a cross-shaped section in it with water fountains at each of its four corners that the passed through, followed by another glass hallway mirroring the one they'd just came through, which led into a room with no glass or butterflies or any of that crap.

The floors were still bright and shiny, and the walls and ceiling were a dull white. A couple yards to their right was a door; it was a bit thicker than one would expect most doors to be, but that made sense since there was a little sign above the door which said "SECURITY OFFICE".

There was a reception window a few feet to the left of the door with a small counter sticking out of it with a log on top of it meant to record people's checking in and out of their large items. Tanner could make out a slot in the frame of the reception window where a metal shutter could come down in the event that there was a security risk.

Another door within the security office could be seen, which looked even thicker than the exterior one.

The rest of the room was open, with a section of different-shaped and colored tiles in the middle of the room spelling "B.B.R.C." within a white bat's silhouette.

Vending machines took up a few feet of space near the door that led, according to the sign above it "TOURIST FACILITIES". Both were situated in the middle of the right wall. On the opposite wall, in the same place, was another door indicated to be the "OFFICES".

"_I wonder if they have little keys for each of them that you have to find somewhere else." _He half-joked in his head, seeing that they each had a lock in the handle where a key could be inserted. Then again, for that matter, so did the security office.

Opposite the hallway they'd just entered through was the final door in the room, this one being labeled "LABORATORY FACILITIES". However, unlike all the other doors, _this _one had a _keycard _reader to the side of the door instead of a keyhole in the doorknob.

"Sir?"

He looked to his right, and saw the girl standing in the direction of the security office.

"I'll need you to leave your knife here at the security desk, as well as everyone else's hiking packs."

The others waited for him to move.

"_Yeah, yeah. I know. We've got time."_

He walked over to the security desk, looking around. Though there were plenty of people in the area, none seemed to be in this particular room at the moment.

"_I guess the information was correct. This place runs like clockwork."_

There was a fairly large man in a suit waiting behind the reception window, ready to check in their luggage and the knife. Attached to the pocket of his suit with a clip was a security card; "Ed Worth".

Derik reached behind his back towards the knife and pulled it out. He flipped it into a normal grip and then pushed it forward through the air, into the man's Adam's apple with a *thunk*.

His eyes shot wide and the man's arm instinctively began to reach for the sidearm by his side. However, before he could do so, and before he could bleed too much, Derik twisted the knife and grabbed the back of the man's head, slamming it against the wall above the reception window with cracking sound.

The man gave a spasm, and Derik pushed him away to fall back into the office, taking hold of his security card as the dead man did so.

"_Sorry about that, Ed." _He joked.

The girl began to scream, but Dalca's hand curled and he hit her in the neck with the ridge of his hand, causing her to squelch out all of her breath, before he reached around her head with one hand and gripped her chin with the other, snapping it clockwise and breaking her neck with a sickening crack.

Derik pulled a key he'd been given prior to the mission out of his back pocket and put it into the keyhole on the security office door. He turned it and the door unlocked, allowing him to open it and for Dalca to drag her body towards the office and throw it inside.

Tanner closed the door again and locked it once more, but broke off the key after doing so with both a *clink* and a *crack* at the same time. He tossed the remainder of the key into the office itself. They heard it land on the floor with a clang as they all approached the door labeled "LABORATORY FACILITIES" and Derik turned the security card in his hand so he could use it on the keycard reader.

No one spoke; this was part of the mission and there was no room for verbal jokes or any other noise as they neared the door, their boots making little sound as the men quieted their footsteps.

Tanner swept the keycard through the reader and it gave a quiet beep before unlocking the door. He nodded to the others and turned the handle on the door before pulling it open and walking through it, the others following close behind. Wesker was the last one through the door as it slowly slid closed, a reassuring *clock* sound informing all that the door was shut and locked.

In front of them was a long, grey hall which led out into a massive room. From just this single, grounded vantage point Tanner could see an elevator and a staircase that "bordered" it, allowing people to walk up the stairs and arrive at the same place anyone in the elevator would. Scientists could be seen walking about as well; their white-coated forms could be seen tending to what appeared to be very large plants.

More importantly, to either of their sides was a bathroom. The typical signs were beside each door, indicating which gender it was meant for. Pulling his hiking pack up on his shoulders again, Tanner walked towards the one marked for males and entered the bathroom.

To their left were stalls, the colors of which were tan, and to their left, urinals. Opposite them on the far wall were sinks. Beneath their feet was a spotless white floor and the walls and ceiling were similarly covered, though they were slightly darker to hide naturally occurring dust.

"_A perfectly clean bathroom? The bastards." _He joked in his head, walking across the bathroom, towards the sinks.

A loud, hard *smack* could be heard as Morrison kicked open a door to a stall, likely checking to see if anyone was in it. He continued repeating the process with each new stall, trying to make the sound louder each time.

"Morrison," Dalca reminded him. "we are on an important mission; we're not at a summer camp. Finish the check and get ready."

"Yes, mommy." Morrison responded in a childish voice before laughing with his normal one, kicking open the very last door.

"Yeah, we're clear."

The men carrying their hiking packs lowered them to the floor, except for Boyd, who lowered his own to the floor and tossed the other heavy pack, Morrison's, into the man's chest as he tried to catch it.

"Oof!"

"What an explosive catch." Tanner half-joked, half-mocked.

"Hey, whatever. Not everyone's got the time to work out every waking moment, jock."

Tanner chuckled at the man's return-joke and opened his hiking pack. The others did likewise as he pulled a carrier vest on. It didn't provide any protection against attacks, but it was lighter than an average tactical vest due to only the necessary parts being present and he had plenty of pouches to carry things in, and it was easily accessible.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled the strap out of the first couple loops so that he could fit a holster on it before putting it back an buckling it again. Around him the others were doing the same more or less, with variations obviously occurring with the variety of equipment being used.

Tanner put his SIG P226 handgun into the newly-placed holster and closed the strap over it tightly. Afterwards he put four clips of ammunition for it in their respective pouches along his ribs, and four grenades in _their _holding places near his waist line.

"Super commando man, huh?" Morrison joked while pulling on his "battle uniform"; a white suit complete with white pants, vest and hat as well.

"Look who's talkin' Al Capone." He spoke with a New York accent, causing the man to laugh as he spun the hat onto his head.

"Morrison, what are you doing wearing that on an operation?" Dalca asked him while assembling his G36K assault rifle.

"Hey, if you're going to be on a top-secret mission, you might as well look good. Besides, everything else here's white; pretty good camouflage if you ask me."

Tanner chuckled at the absurdity of his statement, despite its truth, as he pulled an SA80 assault rifle from the hiking pack, one of the last things from within it.

The four spare magazines for it quickly found their way to the pouches along his back before he pulled the final thing from the bag; a Ka-bar Marine Corp combat knife. His eyes shone as his grin altered slightly to show the closest thing to a smile of affection the man would ever give.

"You gonna _use _that knife or _kiss_ it?" Morrison joked as he closed his eyes and rose, still grinning.

"Nah, it's nothing like that. I'm just impressed."

"Impressed about _what_?" Jet asked further.

"How many times a good knife can be cleaned and still hold its polish." He answered, sliding it into the knife sheath on his belt round back; the previous knife was a similar size and shape. With the small strap that he used to hold the knife within the sheath any other differences were pretty unimportant.

"We ready?" He asked, slinging the strap of the SA80 around him.

Morrison flung a duffle bag, white of course, over his shoulder and pulled his dress-jacket forward a bit to cover up the revolver in its shoulder holster within it.

"Aye, aye capeeton."

Boyd had put a grey military jacket on over his white t-shirt, as well as added two holsters to each side of his belt, one containing an Automag handgun, a semi-automatic magnum, and a single-action-army. For some reason, he didn't seem to have anything else, though Tanner was willing to bet the man had plenty of ammunition for both. And after all, veterans were supposed to kill what they shot at, not just scare it; he doubted Boyd would miss what he shot at with those guns.

Dalca, already having been dressed in his desired clothes from the start of the mission, had a waist holster as well, though he was carrying a G36K assault rifle as opposed to two heavy-duty handguns. From the slight bulges in the pocket of his camouflage jacket it looked like he plenty of ammo for it and the pistol model 2000 strapped in the waist holster. As well, he could be seen sliding a closed balisong knife up one of his sleeves. Apparently, since it did not fall out when he brought his hand away, there was a sheath within the jacket itself.

"_A little knife that can drop out of your sleeve and stab people. How typical of you, Dalca."_

"The office is on the top floor." Wesker spoke, drawing all of the gazes towards him. The grinning man was wearing an open black trench coat, as well as black pants and a leather vest beneath it.

In a carrier somewhat similar to the one Tanner wore himself, albeit smaller, a handgun rested in its holster nearly underneath his left arm. It was some kind of special, high-performance gun called the "Samurai Edge Custom" from where it'd been made. On the opposite side was a Gerber Mark II combat knife which Tanner immediately recognized as a custom-made one as well on the butt cap of the knife was a circle created by a serpent, devouring its own tail.

"_Uroboros huh? Interesting label to have on your knife." _Tanner commented mentally.

Wesker seemed to have more ammo, but it didn't look like he had anything but the handgun and the knife.

"_Cocky bastard huh? Or maybe that's just your thing. Well, whatever, to each their own."_

"Our target is head researcher Kathleen Sharpe. Or, more specifically, a recent invention of hers, as well as our 'material'. We are supposed to keep her alive if at all possible, but if she shows any signs of intending to destroy the virus or the material, she dies."

"We were all at the briefing, Wesker." Dalca reminded the man; contrasting the blond-haired guy's smooth, goading tone with his cold, ruthless one. It echoed thoughts of them all to an extent; everyone here was a professional, in one way or another. They didn't need to be reminded of their mission objective.

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you were still aware of the specifics of the plan."

The atmosphere that the four of them created seemed to fill the room with a chill, despite the fact the entire facility was kept at normal room temperature. However, the temperature near Wesker remained the same; their "energy" had no effect on him.

"Now then, let's get going, shall we?"


	3. Delusional genius

The security camera positioned at the end of the hallway viewed the intruders for only about half a minute before it was torn from its resting place and disconnected, effectively disabling it. However, its live video stream to Sharpe's office had not been in vain; she now knew that there were rats coming to steal her away to their little rat holes to work on making them a cheese wheel or some other ridiculously dim-witted invention.

People had always sought to manipulate Kathleen Sharpe's peerless intellect for their own, dull-minded ends. Unfortunately for them, it was the very same low brain-capacity which disabled them from creating their own inventions that kept them from outsmarting someone like her.

"Such primates; using force to achieve their goals like this instead of their brains. We _evolved _from monkeys, boys; we are primates, but we are _intelligent _primates. Or at least we're _supposed _to be." She mused, gazing about her office. The expensive wooden paneling contrasted the sterile whites and grays of lab life, both out in the peons' laboratory and in her own.

Though it was not the environment that dictated an activity's importance; the _activity _defined the _environment's _importance.

The same could be said of a theory or invention; if an idiot invented something brilliant, it was a fluke. If a genius invented something of only moderate importance, it was a significant contribution to the field. Her decades of experience proved both.

"Well, that is… except for a few _exceptions_." She spoke through gritted teeth.

The walls behind her and to her left were covered in bookshelves, all with research studies and theoretical musings within them, while the walls to her right and in front of her were not.

Her L-shaped desk was placed against the right wall, a brand new desktop computer monitor atop it which had, until only moments ago, been streaming the camera feed to her.

Ever since the creation of her masterpiece Sharpe had known that _someone _would try to steal her and her virus away. And since that time she had constantly been on watch and on guard, ready should the attempt come. And now it had.

Kathleen turned off the monitor, and saw her reflection gazing back at her. She was a decently-attractive woman in her youth, though no one had ever been intelligent enough to deserve a relationship with her, but her blonde hair, bound in a short bun, was turning grey.

She was not like other unconfident, malleable women; she knew that her graying hair was merely a result of her DNA unraveling, that her mind was just as brilliant as it had been years earlier- no, even _more _brilliant. The mind not be the last thing to go as you grow older, but it certainly wouldn't be her _first_.

Sharpe opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a small box with a lock on it. She turned the box upward so that the bottom was facing her, and pressed the round button it revealed on the bottom of it. It made a clicking sound and pressed the whole bottom inward slightly before she slowly lowered it and the top to the ground, pulling the top away, complete with the distracting "lock" that served no actual security purpose other than to deter dim-witted fools.

The fallout base held a gun within it, a Ruger LCP; it was a personal defense handgun.

Kathleen Sharpe was no a sharpshooter. Nor did she need to be; the gun might not necessarily kill whoever it hit, but a fragile glass tube holding a precious substance within would shatter near-instantly.

She picked the gun up and put it in a pocket in her lab coat before pushing herself and her chair away from the desk, allowing her room to get away from both. Sharpe rolled the chair back beneath the foot space of the desk and then walked out of her office, past the couch that idiots would sit in when addressing her informally.

There was a short hall, only a couple yards in length, and then she had a choice whether to go out the doors, and onto the catwalk that led to the elevator and stairs, or turn left, and then left again to go down the equally-short hall to her own personal lab.

She opted for the second option, as if the first were even a viable one; she could already hear the elevator rising towards her office on the fifth and highest floor.

The heels of her shoes clacked on the hard floor as she walked into the lab. To her immediate left was a long, slightly rounded table fitting with the groove in the wall. And to her left was the majority of the room; a large semi-circle with rows of shelves with samples and chemicals on it across the whole wall.

A few feet from the middle of the wall was her experiment table, under which various tools were stored.

Sharpe gazed at the lone Petri dish waiting on the table, its companion-spot on the shelf equally as alone, and walked over to the table.

"_How ironic that even though my virus is so much more superior, that I'll be in more or less situation as that bastard Birkin. Though I don't intend on letting things turn out quite the way they did with him."_

Her hatred for the one scientist reminded her of her loathing for the other.

"Alexia Ashford." She virtually spat the name out into the air, causing the liquid samples in their test tubes and Petri dishes and whatnot to tremble.

The brat had been considered a genius since her very birth, noticed above even Kathleen herself, all because her family was rich and powerful. Her family might have been what made her powerful, but the arrogant bitch had gone so far as to create her own virus when she wasn't even out of her teens. And what more, she'd been _successful_.

"If you can call freezing your rear off in a cryogenic tube for fifteen years to get accustomed to the virus _successful_." She mocked.

The girl's family had been known for its success since the founder of it, Veronica Ashford, had given the household a reputation for brilliance and beauty. Near the end of its lineage, most specifically, Alexia's father, Alexander Ashford, it had begun to crumble, and like an experiment, she was created when DNA taken directly from Veronica Ashford's body was injected into the embryo of a pregnant woman.

The result was Alexia Ashford, childhood "prodigy" and creator of the T-Veronica virus; then the most powerful one created, even stronger than William Birkin's _G_-virus.

"Nothing but imitations." Sharpe reflected, as she heard the elevator arrive at her floor.

"_You can't have my masterpiece! My brilliance manifested into the world! My intellect has gone unnoticed long enough! Everyone will realize that I am superior to those hacks Birkin and Ashford! They'll all grovel at my feet, worshipping my intelligence! Do you __**hear me?!**__"_


	4. Negotiations

The elevator door opened and the team split up, one group turning left, the other turning right. Both groups took another left and right respectively, as the elevator faced out away from the researcher's office; they had to "turn around" to face the entrance to it.

They walked along the metal catwalk, towards the only brown, wooden doors they'd seen in the entire building, an indication of the user of the room's importance.

If there were any concerns as to whether or not this was Sharpe's office they were quickly dispersed as they all spotted the plat above the doors that read "Chief researcher: Kathleen Sharpe."

The trip here had been a quick, and mostly uneventful one. Though of course the other scientists had seen them, none would be able to get to the security office in time, and even when they did, they would realize that there were two corpses inside, that the door to it could not be opened, and that the other security guards were spread out across the premises.

"_One must love the flaws and stupidities of the human mind; they are so easy to manipulate to your liking." _Wesker thought as two men formed on each door and the man in front on both sides pushed it open, the other immediately rushing in behind them and heading down one of the two short halls to search for the doctor. Both were followed by their respective backups and Wesker walked calmly in behind them, letting the draws drift closed and gazing at the large plaque on the short wall between the two halls.

A commemoration plaque was on the wall, labeling Sharpe, by the company which owned the B.B.R.C., Orion Dynamics, its most valued researcher. In the small amount of time Wesker had had since his "recovery", he had heard about how she'd pushed to have such a plaque made, even though Orion would not normally give out such marks of importance.

"_How pitiful; to have an intellect like hers and still be such a narcissistic old fool."_

"She's here, in the lab!" Tanner spoke loudly to make sure everyone could hear him, as Wesker's attention altered from the plaque.

"_So easy to manipulate." _He thought once more, walking down the right hall as he heard the others in the office coming their way as well.

Most of the room was like a large semi-circle, and had shelves and shelves neatly covered with samples, except for one spot, its vacant place was slightly to the left of the experiment table which the doctor stood behind.

She wasn't aging particularly well, though then again, she was in her sixties, so there was no reason to expect a human would still be desirable in appearance at that point in their life.

Sharpe was holding a small handgun in one hand, and in the other… a vial of the T-virus.

The rest of the team were aiming their weapons at her; they all knew more or less what it did, and had no intentions of becoming infected.

"Go cover the doors, and put your gas masks on." He instructed them.

All of them showed at least minor surprise, except for Boyd, whose face and eyes remained as solemn as ever.

"If you want to send us away so that you can act on your own-" Dalca began, but he didn't get the chance to finish.

"That's an order." He added.

These men weren't rookies; they didn't whine as they left the room to cover the entrance, but they certainly didn't enjoy it.

"_That's unfortunate for them." _He thought in passing.

"_Now then…"_

"Kathleen Sharpe, I presume?" He asked, taking a step into the room.

"That's chief researcher or doctor Sharpe to you, and that's quite far enough." She spoke, aiming the gun at the vial of T-Virus.

"Quite a desperate move, doctor; why are you acting so rashly?"

"Don't play with me. I know that you've come here for me and my creation."

A laugh spilled from his throat, though it was muffled by his closed mouth as he looked at her through the sunglasses he always wore.

"_You_? What makes you think I'm here for you? It's your _invention _my employers seek, not its inventor."

"Nonsense! I know they want to steal me away to some shamble of a lab in the heart of South America or something along those lines." She spoke, her eyes narrowing in both suspicion and agitation.

"You overestimate yourself, doctor. The only reason you developed 'your' virus is because of the material that was recently recovered from the rubble of a disaster."

Her eyes drew narrower and lost much of the agitation, replacing the emotion with confusion as her hands shook slightly.

"You… how do you know about something like that?"

"The material is here, _isn't _it?"

The doctor showed hesitation, but her weapon did not stray from the vial.

"Even if it were or is, you have greater things to be concerned about." She spoke calmly, obviously trying to regain control of the situation.

"And what would they be?"

"Myself, and this virus. I've already been given the vaccine before; I'm immune to it. How about you and your team though? Do you really think gas masks will keep them from succumbing to the _after_-effects of the virus?"

Wesker's grin grew in amusement as he stepped over to the long, slightly curved table nearby him and picked up a sample's test tube, gazing at it.

"You should know, doctor; plans motivated by desperation are rarely well thought-out _or _successful. Or at the very least…" He spoke, placing the test tube back in its place.

"Those that develop the desperate ideas very rarely survive."

"You don't scare me."

Despite the statement, he could see the woman's hands beginning to shake more; they were not trembling, but she was losing the confidence she'd begun the conversation with.

"I can assure your survival, however, if you cooperate."

"And why should I believe your words? Even if I _did _want to cooperate?"

"Because, if you want to live, you really have no other choice. I am immune to the T-Virus as well, and my team's gas masks will allow them to survive the initial infection. Past that, a few zombies are no issue whatsoever, let alone when we have high, unreachable vantage points from which to shoot them."

"You aren't really so foolish as to think the only things being produced are your so-called _zombies _do you?"

"Miss Sharpe, I have dealt with many bioweapons in the past; from Tyrant models to Cerberuses, to hunters, to lickers… they're all the same to me; they're all just trash to clean up. Trash you have to make sure doesn't get on your shoes."

"My bioweapons are far superior to those relics! I have more research data, greater resources, and a far superior mind to those other two hacks!"

Wesker's grin drew up more into a smirk as the "smart" woman realized she'd had a "slip of the tongue".

"You honestly believe that you're more intelligent than both William Birkin and Alexia Ashford?" He asked, having learned of her inferiority complex that developed with them when first the G, and then T-Veronica viruses were created by Birkin and Ashford respectively.

"You're damn right I am!" She yelled, foregoing her attempts at class retorts.

"That fool Birkin injected himself with his own virus because he'd been too stubborn to let the company he was working for have it, ultimately becoming a mindless monster killed beneath the streets of Raccoon City! _Ashford _meanwhile, took the T-Veronica virus into herself and then reawakened when her twin was killed, only to be killed _herself _by Chris Redfield."

Wesker lost his smirk, and his mouth delved into a seemingly unreachable frown.

Sharpe obviously noticed this and continued.

"That girl's death bothered you hm? Well it might make you somewhat happier to realize that the very virus I created was wasted on returning her to life."

His brows drew in slightly, his interest piqued.

"Unfortunately for the both of you, the virus _and _her are going to be destroyed by me soon enough; I'm not about to give my life's work over to _anyone_!"

His facial features returned to normal, though he still frowned.

"You plan to destroy both of those things?"

"I don't _plan _to; I _will_."

"I see." Wesker remarked, walking a few feet to the left, gazing at nothing in particular. However, it drew Sharpe's interest.

"That changes things."

It was _her _turn to show her confusion.

"What do you me-"

*Bang! Bang!*

The shots rang out not an instant after he'd drawn his gun from its holster, one hitting the doctor between the eyes, the other shooting the T-Virus vial.

Her mouth slumped first, and then she dropped both the gun and the vial, breaking what had been left intact after the bullet shot through it. The rest of the woman's body followed thereafter, and she disappeared behind the table.

"Foolish old bat; I don't have the slightest care in the world as to the welfare of that woman. But do not mention Chris Redfield's name around me, or that is the cost you pay." He told the corpse in his usual tone, his grin returning as he spun his handgun and then put it back in its holster.


	5. Change of plans

The sound of boots pounding on the floor came down the hall and Dalca and Boyd entered the room.

"What did you do?!" Dalca commanded, keeping his voice manageable but filling the tone with ice.

"She threatened to destroy the virus and one of the materials we're after. She had no more use." Wesker explained while walking over to the table.

"You should keep your gas masks on by the way; she managed to shoot the vial before dying, it won't be safe to breathe the air for quite some time."

Dalca's eyes narrowed within the gas mask.

"And what about you?"

"I'm immune to its effects, there's something inside me that counteracts the effects."

"You mean like antibodies?" The man questioned, causing Wesker to smirk on the inside.

"Yes, something like that." He responded, his boots crunching on the broken glass.

"But we don't know where the virus is; our intelligence said that only _she _knew."

"I wouldn't worry about that; she hid it somewhere. Sharpe thought she was much smarter than she actually was, or rather, she was very _intelligent_, but had no smarts."

"What do you mean?"

Wesker momentarily glanced at Dalca, though the man wouldn't be able to see through his sunglasses.

"Are you noticing anything out of place in this room?"

The two looked around, before they could answer, he picked up the Petri dish and turned to face the shelves.

"All of the slots for samples on these shelves are filled, except for one."

He placed the Petri dish in its place, and the entirety of the shelves lowered down several inches like they were all one big shelf, before a slot in the wall opened up, revealing an LED-light interior holding space, a single test tube held in place within it.

Wesker's grin widened on the outside as he reached into the slot and plucked the test tube out of it.

"See? Everything is on schedule."

Dalca seemed irritated, but turned away and left the room, followed shortly thereafter by Boyd.

Wesker gazed at the test tube through his sunglasses, turning it back in forth and observing the deep-blue substance inside. The liquid suddenly became purple for a moment, and then faded away as the flashing light source behind the sunglasses receded and Wesker put the vial into a secure pocket of his coat as he turned around and left the room.

"Sir, what do we do now?" Boyd asked him, his first dialogue since the mission had actively begun.

"The virus will spread throughout the complex. It will be far more dangerous to continue with the mission at the moment than if we wait for the virus to take effect."

"Sir, you want us to wait until all of the people are infected?"

"It is inevitable now anyway; with the virus in the air, their infection is unavoidable."

Boyd tried to look through the sunglasses, into his eyes, but the man's gaze did not penetrate the hardness of the solid veil between them and he turned away.

Wesker turned back towards the lab, and noticed something else immediately opposite the hallway; a small indentation in the floor with a hard-to-see lid covering what must be some kind of hole.

"Go back into the office, and search for a panic room."

"A panic room? What do we need something like _that _for?" Morrison asked.

"And why'd there be one _anyway_?"

"Though the infection will spread quickly, it may not be quickly enough to keep some security personnel from making it up to this floor; the sooner they are infected, the less damage they can do to us. Sharpe wasn't even _close _to being as intelligent as the two people she hated the most, but she _was _the most valuable researcher here; if there is a panic room for anyone, It would definitely be for her, and likely in her office."

"We didn't receive any orders to infect this compound's populace." Dalca mentioned, taking a step forward.

"We didn't receive any orders _not _to infect them _either_; acquiring the material and the new virus sample are the objectives. No limit was placed on achieving those objectives."

Dalca backed down after that, but he didn't recede into a corner; he immediately departed down the hall to the office.

"Boyd, you guard the entrance. The rest of you go search as well."

"What about you?" Tanner asked him, slinging his SA80 over his back.

"I'm going to go make sure that the infection spreads throughout the entire building. It's better for them all if they all become infected; being devoured before turning is not an enjoyable experience, I imagine."

"I don't know, sounds kinda kinky but-"

Wesker ignored the man and walked back into the lab. He examined the samples about the lab more thoroughly and noticed that all of the samples seemed to be of either T-Virus or G-Virus.

The G-Virus couldn't transfer in gas form, but the T-Virus could. However, he'd received some additional information prior to the mission that the four large plants they'd passed on the first floor of the laboratory facility were used to provide the entire complex with fresh air, as well as clean the environment of any possible infection incidents.

"_What were to happen if the plants, supplied with water and nutrients from the covered "hole" I just noticed, were to have something else deposited into the reservoir instead?"_

Wesker pulled his gloves on more tightly, and then pulled open the cover to the deposit spot where the plants would be hydrated from.

He turned around and walked down along the curved table in front of it, reaching the end and turning around once more.

The man smirked as he brought a hand back and focused, the leather-like material of his gloves giving an audible indication of its straining before the hand leapt forward and managed to knock the first test tube into all the others, and then all of _those _into the wall above the deposit like a glass-and-fluid buckshot.

The sounds of shattering glass came as the liquid splattered from the various test tubes and the contents of many of them spilling into the reservoir.

Wesker smirked again, and then left the lab.

"Status?" He asked Boyd, who stood guarding the entrance doors.

"No indication of enemies nearby. The elevator jamming likely will keep them at bay until they're… infected."

"Good." He commented, walking past the man and down the hall to the office.

Tanner and Dalca had searched the scientist's desk already, and were just beginning to move to the bookshelves, taking obvious interest in one behind her desk that was smaller than the others.

"_Typical of these corporations; I wonder if the heads of all pharmaceutical corporations have a taste for cliché-puzzles or if Sharpe is merely the designer of these little tricks."_

Upon seeing him enter the room, Dalca ceased his search, facing him. Tanner halted for a moment as well, but then made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff and continued.

"Is there something you wanted to discuss, Dalca?" Wesker asked him like he wasn't obvious. It was strange; this man was supposed to be calm and in control at all times, and yet he had seemed the most irritable member since they had begun the mission. Perhaps it was because of that commitment he had to "following the rules".

The man didn't spend any time playing around as Wesker watched the books, as well as heard them being pushed about on the shelf as Tanner continued searching it.

"Won't having the virus released throughout the facility just make it _harder _to acquire the materials?"

"Not necessarily."

The man's brows drew more closely together.

"Why?"

"Human bioweapons; essentially the walking undead. They are far too slow to pose any true threat, so long as you mind your surroundings."

"And what of the _other _kinds of bioweapons?"

"You are all experienced soldiers, are you not? And a few of you have even dealt with incidents like this before."

Dalca seemed minutely surprised by Wesker's knowledge, but didn't let it affect him any further.

"And what will we do if the rest of the people in this building develop the same plan as you have of staying high up here? There is always a possibility some of them will not be infected. They could discover us in this office, as well as the scientist's body. And if they are security guards-"

"It is of no significance. If a bioweapon manages to reach this floor. We will eliminate it. If a _human _manages to get to this floor, we will _kill _it. We are no longer in the infiltration stage of this operation. Subtlety is no longer required, nor necessarily beneficial. It is all part of completing the mission."

That was the last explanation or justification for his actions that Wesker was going to give Dalca at the moment, and he turned his full attention on Tanner and his search.

"Derik." He spoke informally to get the man's attention; it worked. The sounds of shuffling books ceased and he looked over his shoulder at the blonde-haired man.

"Move 'nervous system' up from the bottom, chemistry shelf to the middle one between 'skeletal system' and 'epidermal system'." He instructed the man.

With a shrug, Tanner did so, and the bookcase immediately sank into the wall, sliding into it afterwards and revealing an open archway to a panic room, stocked with water, food, and communication equipment.

"What were you asking about again, Dalca? Something about others finding us?"

Dalca showed some irritation at that as Tanner chuckled and Wesker looked around the room, moving only his head and his eyes, not his body.

"Where did Morrison go by the way?"

"To have a cigarette." Tanner answered.

"Did he forget that the virus was being released into the air?"

"Maybe, I couldn't tell you."

From down the hall the three men heard the doors opening, as well as Boyd drawing a gun, the S.A.A. judging by the sound and speed of which he drew it; apparently he'd heard their little discussion.

"Hey, hey! What's _your _problem?!"

"Are you infected?" Boyd questioned him, out of sight.

"No, I went for a smoke and the air was fine. But then the plants started to change and I put my mask back on. It was weird; the air only started changing after the plants had started mutating or whatever."

Boyd seemed sufficiently satisfied and Wesker heard him holster the gun.

"Boyd, Morrison, back to the office. We're going to stay in a panic room for a short while, until the virus is no longer in gas form."

The men's footsteps could be heard on the hard floor and they were soon visible coming down the hall as well, before Wesker turned back towards the panic room and walked towards it.

"_It's better that all of those people become infected or killed anyway; they don't deserve the right to live in the new world."_


	6. Cause and effect

Stacy watched as more and more tourists entered, threatening to overcome the already over-encumbered staff.

"_Things sure are getting busy." _She thought while fighting to maintain her smile.

"_I swear, we should get commission for this or something; for each group of tourists we get sent on a tour we get like… I don't know, five cents?"_

She didn't like working here to be honest.

"_Don't get me wrong, it pays decently for what I'm doing, it isn't cold year-round, and the staff that I'm around are friendly, but I just want to do… more than this. I don't want to be here when I'm thirty or forty years old doing the same thing."_

She'd had the typical "gruff" life; an abusive stepfather, barely any money, hard time at school, etc. It hadn't been anything truly out of the ordinary, but it had been bad enough to motivate her to move out here, as opposed to staying back home further north.

Her plan had basically been to build up enough money working here so that she could go to college. And since Orion Dynamics was known for taking good care of its employees she knew she could probably get a scholarship of some kind.

"_And yet I've been working here for three years and I'm not even close to having enough for all the expenses."_

She was drawn out of her thoughts as she noticed the sun seeming to be going down quicker than usual, causing her to look up. It was at the same time that she saw the shutters moving down over the entirety of the front of the reception building that she _heard _them moving down as _well_.

"_What the hell?"_

The tourists didn't seem to understand what was going on, and most began to make their way towards the doors to leave, but when the shutters suddenly increased in speed and slammed down to hit the floor everyone was thrust into a panic. A few people even screamed in surprise and it took her several attempts to calm them down.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's just a regular test or something." She assured them.

"'or something'? Don't you work here?" A man asked her.

"Of course-"

"What's going on?" Asked another.

"I'm not sure." She spoke, her tone showing a bit more stress.

"Well find _out_!"

She sighed and turned back towards the archway and the people in the rooms on the other side who were equally as anxious.

None of the open spaces in the recreation area had been covered, but then again, it was impossible to go anywhere from there aside from into the small parks on either side, and the water did not come from a natural spring so you couldn't swim out. In fact, the only ways to leave the facility, as far as she knew, were to go out through the reception building, or through the security office and up the stairs in the back room to the helipad.

"Well, what is going _on_?" A man asked, the sound in his tone verbalizing his fright.

Others joined in, demanding answers from her, but their noise seemed to fade away as she heard something else, a strange sound that seemed altered, yet familiar at the same time.

She took a few steps down the glass hallway, towards the sounds, but they didn't seem to grow much louder. So she took a few more steps, and a few more. And though she knew people were yelling behind her, everything seemed so quiet aside from the unidentified sound, and the echoes her shoes made throughout the hall.

The children seemed to hear it too, but no one knew what it was nor where exactly it was coming from.

Stacy reached the spot in-between the fountains, and gazed down the hall as the sound seemed to pick up in pitch. It was hard to tell, but she thought it was coming from the research laboratories.

The sound overcame her ears, sounding like a million buzzing insects at the same time, and forced her to bring her hands up to her ears to silence it. However, despite her efforts they didn't fade away, and as the seconds dragged on she could heard people screaming from the research laboratory, only adding to the tension and now-apparently dangerous situation.

Stacy thought she saw something tiny and black fly out from the rim of the door, and then she gasped. A moment later a thousand gnats erupted from all sides of it, coming in a huge stream out of the door's sides.

Within moments the entirety of the diversionary building was engulfed in the cloud of buzzing gnats, and the people within the room screamed as the bugs began devouring them.

It only took a few seconds for the massive swarm of gnats to come flying down the long glass hall, covering anyone who had been stunned within them.

As the swarm approached her, she felt her palms sweat, but did not freeze up. Instead, Stacy ran to her left, out of the recreation building and to one of the parks on the side, and dove into the pond which lay there as the swarm burst over her head and engulfed everything above her in a hazy blackness.

Stacy held her breath and fought to keep herself below as she heard the muffled screams of those still on the surface through the black swarm. Within several moments, the screams as well as the constant buzzing of the gnats, as well as the uneven spots of light that appeared here and there amongst the swarm, made her feel like she were staring up at a gigantic television with no signal.

Much to her misfortune, she felt her breath quickly leaving her, and knew that if the swarm did not disperse the only choice she would have would be _how _she died; by being devoured by the thousands of bugs, or drowning.

Fortunately, just as she coughed out her last breath into the pond, the swarm departed upwards into the sky, leaving the air above the pond completely free.

Stacy pushed against the water with her hands and feet, struggling to reach the service before she lost consciousness, and finally managed to do so. She broke the surface of the water with a big, gasping breath.

She ignored the water that ran down from her brow as she scanned the area; everyone who had been screaming not a minute ago was now lying on the ground, dead.

"_Oh my god." _She thought, slowly treading towards the bank, wishing that she would see _someone _who was still breathing.

They hadn't been devoured in the least. In fact, she could barely even tell they'd been bitten at _all_; the only sign of it was a general redness across their skin from inflammation of the bites. It was hard to tell whether the deaths had been painful ones or not, since all of the corpses looked more _terrified _than in _pain_.

"_What just happened? Thousands of gnats from the labs? Even with that many they shouldn't have been able to kill anyone." _She thought nervously as her teeth chattered together in fear.

Stacy managed to move her trembling, dripping wet body across the grass to an unoccupied bench and sat down on it with a heave.

She took deep breaths and tried to focus.

"_Okay, stay calm. You need to find a way to get out of here. The reception building is sealed off. Which means…"_

Her head shot up as the girl realized she could go through the security office and get up onto the helipad. It was unlikely she would be able to climb down from it, but at the very least she wouldn't have to stick around in here waiting for the next freak show to occur.

"The helipad!" She thought out loud, bolting up from the bench with renewed energy.

It was a queue. It had to be. Her sign of energy must have reached whatever remained in the corpses. Because they started to move. All around her, she saw what she had thought were dead people begin to shows signs of waking up.

"_Maybe the bites just made them go into stasis or something." _She reasoned, walking towards the nearest recovering person, a young boy, and placing a hand on his back.

"Are you alright?" She asked him.

He was wearing shorts and a white t-shirt, likely in an attempt to not get hot while in the sun, and his hair looked like it had recently been trimmed, possibly in preparation for the vacation.

The boy probably wasn't even a teenager yet, judging by his size and the pitch of his voice. She could only imagine how frightening of an experience it could have been for someone so young. Yet, his body didn't seem to be trembling, nor did he seem frightened in the least. In fact, it seemed like he was almost in a trance.

"Hey…"

She reached over to his other side, to pull on his shoulder to face her. But as she did he groaned and moved his head forward, to her arm. Stacy felt his breath on her arm as she withdrew it and leaned in closer.

"What's wrong? Do the bites still hurt?"

He didn't speak back to her, all she got was another one of those groans. Had he gone through a seizure that left him mute or something?

He began to raise his head, and she noticed something about him; his face was completely relaxed. It didn't look like there was even an owner to it; the structure seemed more like a blanket put over some pillows than a human being's face.

Normally, when someone is in pain, they _tense _their face, or even when they're contemplating what is happening, they at least tense their brow. But he didn't seem to be tensed at _all_, in fact, she wondered if the boy was even _there_.

"_Did the experience traumatize him so much that he can't even think?" _She wondered.

All around her the people seemed to be the same; no one spoke, nor did they cry out in pain or in fear. In a group numbering in the dozens, there should have been at least _one _person that reacted to the situation differently than the others. It was as if they were _zombies _or something.

It was at that exact consideration when the boy opened his previously sleepy eyes, and revealed milky-white pupil-less orbs.

She froze, staring into the otherwise healthy-looking boy's lifeless eyes. All around her she _felt _the others' eyes open as well, all fixating upon her. They moaned and groaned like starved people waiting for a feast, and she realized that this is exactly what it was to them; food.

"'_like zombies' they __**are **__zombies!" _She realized just as the boy lunged at her, mouth open and saliva-dripping teeth bared.

Stacy screamed and turned away, feeling the boy's teeth bite at her arm as his cold clammy hands grabbed her like a predator holding its prey still as it devoured it.

It was only by pure chance that his teeth had ended up biting the large, rolled up collar of her shirt instead of her bare skin or through the shirt itself. As a result, his teeth were too busy tearing at the fabric to be able to reach her tender skin.

Her body shook off the psychological ice which had frozen her still and she tore away from the boy's teeth and hands, the sleeve of her shirt which he'd bitten being ripped off in the process.

She rushed past other rising "corpses" as they grasped for her ankles, and reached the steps into the building. Her shoes sounded much louder than before, and she could hear her heart beating faster than it should have been able to as she got inside, only to be greeted by a risen tourist.

He wore a camera around his neck and khaki shorts, but the tan-colored shirt and his milky eyes coupled with the rest of his outfit left any hint of real color out of him, just making him look like a walking corpse that much more.

Stacy had too much momentum, having just sprinted away like she had, but managed to keep from flying into his teeth by sticking her hands out and pushing him into one of the water fountains. Her shoes fought to gain traction against the slippery floor, which only became _more _slippery as it was coated in splashing water from the fountain.

From behind her she heard the undead tourists wailing for their meal to return, but she had absolutely no interest in giving them a feast.

She quickly glanced to her left to see if any of the tourists in the reception building had been spared, but only saw slowly rising bodies down the hall, eliminating her hope for another survivor.

Her head snapped to the right and she saw, with some relief, that at least the diversionary building was mostly clear of them; only three bodies could be seen rising, and they were all more than far away enough from the security office for her to reach it.

She didn't waste any time; Stacy ran as fast as she could down the hall, using her arms to push against the air and give her more speed as she raced down the hallway, and into the diversionary building.

Stacy checked in front of her as she started towards the security office door to her right. The three zombies that she saw from before were in the main area of the large room; there wasn't any danger-

"Ahhh!" She shrieked as she walked right into a zombie's clutches.

Their hands snapped to each other's shoulders, the zombie trying to pull her in, and Stacy trying to push away.

"No!" She yelled, more determined than afraid, before she lost her balance and they spun around, both revolving and losing their footing and falling to the floor a foot away from each other.

Her head cracked against the floor hard, and she felt her vision go blurry, as well as her hearing become vague.

Nevertheless, she heard the other zombies in the room acknowledge their first meal's presence as the one she'd just ran into grasped for her feet.

Stacy could only manage an "unh" as her declaration that the zombie would not get her, and managed a drunk-stagger over to the security office door.

A small smile made its way to her lips as she thought at how she'd narrowly managed to avoid-

The door wouldn't open.

Her smile disappeared, and she fumbled with the doorknob as the zombies grew closer to her.

"What the hell? _Open_!" She yelled.

Stacy glanced behind her, and saw the zombie already gaining its feet, and felt sweat dripping across her brow as the girl decided to hell with the door.

She moved over to the security desk and began leaning in towards the room when she brought both hands to her mouth and stifled a scream; there were two bodies lying within the office, belonging to Ed and Amy, the last people to be near-

"_It was them!" _She thought, remembering the strange men from before, and how their arrival had coincided with this… _hell_.

Something in the corner of her vision drew Stacy's attention from her thoughts and her head towards the sight; the zombie which she'd narrowly managed to avoid gazed at her, like a thoughtful thinker in deep thought. The room seemed silent for exaggerated seconds…And then it leapt on her and bit a chunk out of her arm.

Her eyes strained with how wide they opened and a terrified, pain-filled scream shouted from her throat at the pain as it swallowed the meat and started chewing on the rest of her arm.

Stacy swung her body, pushing away the moaning creature and dropping a splotch of blood onto the floor as she turned around-

The three zombies which had been several yards away from her were now only a few feet, and already grasping at the tasted meal as the other one rose for seconds.

She stuttered and groaned at the same time as she attempted to dive for the door within the security office which would lead to the helipad, and her escape.

"_I'm not going to die here… I'm not."_

The girl flew through the air, until her hanging feet got caught on the security desk and brought her to a sudden halt.

She gasped as her upper body descended towards the ground and her palms hit the floor hard.

Stacy shook her already-damaged head as she realized her body was still on the desk. And her eyes widened once more as she felt teeth bite into her ankle, and nails rake against her thighs, dragging down her legs as the teeth dug deeper and she felt her tendon get torn, resulting in her foot going limp and for blood to gurgle at the bottom of her throat.

She let out a hopeless sound not much different from the groans of the zombies as she shook the teeth from her ankle and pulled herself down into the office.

"_Not… going to die." _She thought, ignoring the haziness that encroached upon her vision.

Stacy reached for the doorknob, seeking more to pull herself up from the floor than to actually open it, but managed to do the first, and not the second, as she fell back into the corner and the door opened, covering the entirety of her view, due to her now-present tunnel-vision.

"_Almost there._" She thought, lifting up her good leg and kicking the door closed.

"_Almost-"_

Ed's body was moving.

Stacie's eyes trembled as she saw blood spurt from the man's neck wound, still containing the knife which had been used on it, and the newly-turned zombie's head near her disabled foot.

The teeth bit down onto the extremity, causing her body to spasm as her mind faded.

From the corner of the girl's view she could see the other zombies attempting to pull their way through the window of the security desk, even as Ed's teeth continued to devour her foot.

Stacy's body trembled in shock, and the only hope that remained would be that she would die of it before the zombies finished with her.


	7. The team

**(Two days earlier)**

The late-morning sun beat down on the tropical terrain as people moved about the area, assembling to resume the duties of yesterday once again.

It was hot, but the winds on the high cliff helped cool things down. It also meant that if you strayed too far towards the edge, and didn't keep your footing, that you could be swept off the cliff and fall to your fate below. Luckily this wasn't a kindergarten school they were running up here.

A combat boot stamped down into the gravel, as the coordinator of the efforts marched from the "living quarters"; an arrangement of highly-durable tents, to the "command post"; a glorified trailer with a big antennae on the top.

The organization which they worked for wasn't a shamble of cheap businesses; in fact it had actual branch offices on multiple continents. However, being that this mission wasn't regarded as "high-importance" as the others, and was only a temporary establishment, the facilities from which the activities were conducted were, understandably, not reminiscent of five-star hotels.

To the sides of where the cliff poked out were trails which cars could be drove down, widened from the footpaths originally created years ago by natives of the area. And covering the other sides of the clearing atop the mountain cliff were the natural walls formed by the rising structure of the mountain itself.

As the other operatives started up their ATVs; all-terrain-vehicles, he continued walking towards the trailer in which he'd communicate with Command from.

He wore non-camouflaged military fatigues as well as a light jacket with an insignia on the back labeled B.S.A.A. as well as fingerless gloves and black combat boots. The military-look of the outfit conflicted with his long, brown hair, as the Hispanic soldier reached the steps of the trailer.

About him the wind blew more strongly, catching his hair, and his jacket in the wind, revealing a faded-green vest below it. An emblem of a white-and-red umbrella with two swords running through a shield stamped onto it.

Carlos Oliveira placed a hand on the outside wall of the trailer as he looked back in the direction he'd come from for a minute, until the breeze let the jacket back down. He blinked as the man turned about once more and opened the door to the trailer before he entered it, closing the door behind him.

A plywood table with a radio on top of it, as well as a metal, foldout chair greeted him, leaving the filing cabinets which contained important documents to stand in the corner of the trailer.

He gave a quick chuckle as he took in his high-class surroundings for another day of the year, grateful that he had any surroundings at all.

Carlos reached towards the radio and was about to switch it on so that he could speak when it beeped, signaling that someone on the other end was already about to speak.

"This is command calling for the head of the B.S.A.A. anti-bioterrorist efforts in the cliff area of-"

Carlos pulled the foldout chair away from the table and sat down, keying his radio so that he could speak.

"This is Carlos Oliveira; I'm the coordinator of the B.S.A.A. efforts in the area, how're you guys doing?"

"Waiting for the lunch break." The operator humored him "How about you?"

He chuckled.

"I'm alright, it's either hot enough up here to melt me or windy enough to blow me off the mountain, but there's a nice view."

"Well take a picture, because you're being reassigned."

He frowned, and his body became more rigid, reinstituting seriousness into his actions.

"What do you mean?"

"The North American branch has requested your services; they say it's a top-priority assignment."

"Top priority?"

"The same priority as the mission in Kijuju was."

His brow tightened at the mention of the last major bio-incident to occur.

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"You'll receive details at the mission briefing. Do you accept?"

He nodded, even though he knew the operator on the other end couldn't see.

"Yes, I accept the mission."

* * *

**(One day later)**

The world rumbled, shaking from side to side, and rattling the chains on his handcuffs as the prisoner sat, staring straight forward at the doors.

Two guards sat on either side of him, their faces as solemn and stern as judges, as the van continued on its path towards… wherever.

"_Hm… can't help but feel like I've been here before." _Billy Coen mused inside his head as the van continued taking him towards where he was fated to go.

"_It's alright, at least I got the chance to make up some of what I owed to the people whose deaths I was responsible for."_

The van stopped, and he heard people gathering in front of the doors to the van.

"Well, now; that wasn't a very long ride _was _it?" He asked the guard as the doors to the van were pushed open and the guards to his sides each took hold of an arm and led him out of the armored transport van.

"_Where are there zombified dogs when you need them?" _He joked a bit as the guards led around the van and out of the room, down a hallway.

It was easy to tell that this was a military building; aesthetics had been sacrificed for cheapness and practicality in terms of the materials used, as the hallways were mostly just varying shades of grey and concentrations of white.

The sounds of their boot-clad footsteps echoed in the long halls as the guards led him down this hall and then up that one; it was almost as if the complex had been built just to keep him uncoordinated as to its layout.

Suddenly the guards brought him to a stop, and turned him to face towards a door with two other guards stationed outside of it.

"_Pretty showy for just a court-martial."_

One of the guards opened the door and allowed his little "entourage" to escort him through it into the room on the other side.

To Billy's surprise, it didn't look anything like a makeshift courtroom or the like; it looked like a briefing room.

If a long table and chairs with people sitting in them weren't enough evidence of that, the darkened room and the drawn screen opposite the table with a man standing near it was.

"Ah, ex-lieutenant Coen. Perfect timing." Said the man in front of the screen.

"I didn't get here too late for the punch and cookies, did I? I told the guy driving the van to hurry up or we'd miss out."

"There's nothing to worry about there, we were waiting until you came to uncork the bottle of champagne."

"What's going on?" Billy requested, tired of playing around.

The man to whom he was speaking was older in age, had his hair cut short, a nicely-pressed uniform with medals on it, and a "no-bullshit" attitude; he was a dime-a-dozen amongst the officers of the military.

"This is your parole hearing, son; as well as your new assignment."

"Don't bullshit me; I'm set to be executed as a result of my court-martial, not to have some guy wave his finger at me, strap an ankle-bracelet on me and send me to work at some meat-packing plant."

Any semblance of humor vanished from the older soldier's eyes.

"You're right; you _are _supposed to be answering to your court-marshal right now. And if you'd _like _that _is _still a choice."

Billy remained silent, but didn't back down; he maintained his presence.

"Lights on." Commanded the soldier, and the room instantly flickered back into illumination.

"Here's the deal, Coen; you're experienced with dealing with B.O.W.s."

Billy's brow furrowed at the mention, and for a moment the elder soldier seemed amused again.

"You thought we didn't know? We _let _you get back into Latin America to go on your little civil service mission. We didn't have a need for your skills; now we do."

"Oh, _I _see…" Billy stated, tightening his hands into fists within the handcuffs.

"You kept an eye on me; kept me in 'reserve' until you needed me to fix one of your little bioweapon-related problems."

"Don't sound so upset, son, you can still do more for your country."

Billy's frown threatened a scowl, and his knuckles cracked.

"I'm not your son, and don't you _dare _question what I've done for this country; just because I was convicted of the massacre doesn't mean I _did _it."

"You were innocent until proven guilty."

"Who was proven guilty? I got sentenced to death because the marine in my squad who knocked me out testified against me and because the government's got deeper pockets than I do."

"Excuses."

"To _you_."

"If you're going to whine like a little kid, maybe we don't _want _you for this mission."

"That's fine; I'd rather die in a prison for being convicted of something I didn't do than end up in some freak's stomach for trying to cover up one of your dirty little secrets."

"The military was not involved, Coen. After Umbrella tanked we decided we wanted nothing to do with the bioweapon market."

"Excuses."

The old soldier almost scowled himself, but maintained his composure.

"If you complete this mission, and make it out alive, you'll be pardoned by the president; regardless of whether you 'did it or not'."

"And if I refuse?"

The two's gazes connected, and they maintained unblinking eye contact as the old soldier spoke.

"Then you can get back in that van and take the last drive you'll ever take."

Billy's fists clenched tighter, and then loosened up.

"Fine. Mission accepted."

A quick grin teased at the corner of the old soldier's mouth, and then it was gone.

"Lights off."

With a *snap* the room was reclaimed by darkness, and the projector turned on.

"This is the B.B.R.C. Also known as the bright bat research center."

Someone raised their hand and Billy's brow drew closer, motivated by an undecided emotion of amusement or uncertainty as to why the curious person would raise their hand.

The old soldier didn't seem particularly thrilled that the man was raising his hand; apparently he didn't care much for the soldier.

Billy got the feeling they'd get along just fine.

"Yes, Murphy?"

"Why's it called that?"

"I don't know, son; maybe they thought it was a cute name. Do you mind if we move on now?

"Oh yes, please do. Um, sir."

Billy noticed with some amusement that the last sentence was little more than a joke.

"The B.B.R.C. is known for its recent pioneering in the field of genetic therapy, and has somehow found the legal line between normal pharmaceuticals and stem cells. You could call it a 'good-willed' version of Umbrella if you wanted."

"_Teh. 'good-willed'." _He thought.

"But that's not the problem, the problem is this,"

The projector changed slides and showed a blonde man with gelled-back hair and sunglasses; it looked like a surveillance photo.

"Albert Wesker; a former lesser-official of Umbrella, as well as involved with the CEO of one of TRICELL'S divisions, and _supposed _to be _dead_, according to the report of a B.S.A.A. operative that described 'blowing him up in a volcano with two RPGs' as the cause of death."

"_Bastard's tough." _Billy thought.

Another hand rose, though this time from someone else; it didn't seem to be the slightly-taunting "schoolboy" gesture of "Murphy's" however.

"Oliveira." The old soldier spoke, not seeming nearly as pissed off this time with the asker.

"I've heard that name before, sir."

"He's the man that almost turned three-fourths of the human population of the entire world into a mass of black worms."

"Well, that certainly explains why he got the front-page treatment." He heard Murphy speak up again; with the longer sentence Billy was able to pick out a Gaelic accent; likely Irish.

"Can it, Murphy."

Billy felt a small chuckle form in his chest, but let it dissipate before it could manifest.

"Regardless of how the son of a bitch managed to survive, the issue is this; he's been sent by a company, currently unknown, to retrieve what's only been described as 'special material'."

Billy couldn't hold back the chuckle this time, and the old soldier seemed to be growing more irritated by the second; it was one of the causes that had motivated the casual laugh.

"Something to add, Coen?"

"You want to send military guys to stop some gel-haired terminator guy from picking up the CEO's pornography subscription?"

Murphy chuckled, and he could tell that the other two men, Oliveira and an as-of-yet unnamed man, wanted to laugh as well.

"If you want to joke, Coen, you can do it on the way to your court-marshal."

"Fine; so this 'material', do we know what it could be? Like a new virus, B.O.W.… what?"

"We don't know what he's after; all we know Is that it's important enough for some company to bring him back from the dead and, considering the subject of the B.B.R.C.'s research, we can't let a psychopath like him get his hands on whatever that is."

If there was one thing that the old soldier had said this whole time that Billy agreed with, that was it.

"So, our objective is to keep him from retrieving the sample?"

"Your objective_s_," The soldier began, putting an emphasis on the word being plural.

"are to discover what they're after. To keep him, and the team he was sent in with, from getting their hands on whatever it is. To eliminate them, and to retrieve the material if it is possible."

Billy scowled again.

"And why the hell are we supposed to _retrieve _it if the thing is so damn _dangerous_?"

"Don't get an attitude with me, Coen; we predict that Wesker and his team will be infiltrating the facility and taking out civilians in the process of their retrieval. You don't attack a research center that's in a public area if you're not after something important; if the material violates any laws, we want to be able to try the CEOs of the company for allowing illegal research to continue."

He didn't buy it, but kept anymore objections to himself. If nothing else, he could always just stamp on the thing or kill it to keep the government from getting its hand on it.

"You'll be going in from the roof; there's a helipad near the front of the facility that you can use to access the public section of the research center. You'll then make your way through the complex until your mission is complete, at which time you'll contact us via radio and we'll send in a transport to pick you up."

"What about rescuing civilians?" Carlos asked.

"If you can, get them out of harm's way. But their survival is a secondary objective."

Once more Billy scowled, and his hands began to tighten into fists again.

"If you're lucky you'll get there before his team even arrives, but be prepared for a bio-incident just in case."

"When are we shipping out?"

"Now; you get your gear, and then you're on the helicopter heading to the location. We don't have time to stand around here. Lights."

Again the room flickered back into illumination, and the others began to get up from the table.

"Oliveira is the team leader, he is in command-"

"Hey, gunny?" Billy spoke, ignoring whether or not the man was actually a gunnery sergeant.

He rose his hands up into the air, the chains on the cuffs dangling.

"You want me to break the guy's neck with the chains? Or are you going to let me out of these?"

"Of _course_." The soldier told him, a bit _too _cooperatively.

One of the old hands reached into a pants pocket, and pulled out a set of keys. With a single hand he inserted the key into one of the locks, and then the other, allowing the handcuffs to fall to the floor.

Billy began to rub his wrists when he felt something _else _get snapped onto the left one.

"What the-"

It looked just like a handcuff, but instead of silver it was black, had no chain dangling from it, and there was a dull red light in the hole where a key would normally be inserted.

"You didn't really think we'd send you to a possibly-abandoned facility without some kind of leash, did you?"

"You bastard-"

"Just get the job done, lieutenant. Then you can go back to your community service in Latin America, or whatever else you want, without worrying about us watching your back anymore."

"The hell I will. You and I both know that the next time this damn government needs me to clean up some bio-incident they'll just nab me again and threaten me with something _else_."

The old soldier grinned.

"You're dismissed."

Billy brought his hands down, tightening them into fists once more as the soldier walked away from him and out through another door of the briefing room.

The others walked over towards him, and another grinning face came into his view. However, the owner of the grin this time was a friendly-looking guy with warm-brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin.

"Don't worry about him; he's just an old bastard. Probably hasn't been in the field since he cleaned crap-traps in Vietnam." The man told him, whom he identified as Murphy due to his accent.

"You're Murphy, right?"

"That I am; Lucian Murphy; formerly a sairsint of the Irish Army Rangers, and ready to kick some zombie ass."

"Sairsint?"

"Oh, right, sorry; sergeant."

"That's pretty impressive, how long were you in?"

"Only a few years; I left as soon as I could once I figured out we weren't doing enough to help out."

"You never can, it seems."

"Well the B.S.A.A. lets me do a lot more to help, a lot quicker."

"So you have previous experience handling B.O.W.s?"

"That I do; nothing major like that queen leech thing you dealt with but…"

Billy made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"I didn't know anyone else knew about that."

"Yeah, we got a whole little pamphlet on what you managed to do. Though the binding could have been a bit more flashy."

Billy grinned, allowing himself to pay attention to the other two now as well.

"Ah, this is the last Mohican." Murphy stated, slapping a hand onto the shoulder of a darker skinned man with very dark brown or black hair, who didn't seem very amused by him.

"Vincent Clay; pleased to meet you." He offered, reaching out a hand. Billy took it and shook it firmly, noticing that despite his lighter weight, his grip was pretty strong.

"Billy Coen."

Vincent nodded as their hands came away, and he shook Lucian's hand from his shoulder.

"Don't scalp me, Ke-mo sah-bee." He joked.

"So long as you don't get drunk and beat me up, you piker."

Lucian chuckled wholeheartedly at the man's show of spirit and backed off a bit.

"Alright, alright, no need to get so worked up."

Contrasting with Lucian's light-hearted sparkly green eyes, Vincent's grey ones were thoughtful and serious.

"_Who are these guys? The squad of stereotypes? If this Oliveira guy puts a rose in his teeth and begins dancing for no reason I'm going to have to get my cowboy hat and spurs and my six-shooters." _Billy thought in amusement.

When Carlos actually engaged him in conversation, however, he was grateful to see that his behavior wasn't stereotypical in nature in the least. He had an accent, but that was about it.

"Carlos Oliveira. Don't worry, you don't have to introduce yourself again."

Billy nodded, shaking the last man's hand.

"I'm sorry about this situation you're in, but it really _can _help people, if it's any consolation; you're not just protecting a few suits."

"Once you get past everything else though, that seems to be what it's all about; politics."

"I guess we'll find out, but I don't get the feeling you're going to try and kill us all and book the first chance you get."

"Depends on whether you guys are as genuine as you seem." He responded honestly.

It was Carlos' turn to nod.

"So, are we going to do this thing, or not?" Lucian asked after they'd been talking a bit.

"Wow, the Irishman knows how to be serious." Vincent spoke; Billy thought it was a joke.

"Just promise me you won't shoot me with an arrow and I can be whatever you'd like."

"Sounds like love's in the air." Carlos spoke, getting a bit of a chuckle from everyone.

"Yeah, let's go get this done." Billy agreed.


	8. First encounter

The wind was cool; it contrasted what the environment must have felt like during the day. The air would have been warm, the sun high in the sky. Birds would have been chirping.

Vincent Clay likely wouldn't have heard any sounds of wildlife over the roar of helicopter blades to begin with, but he could tell; something was suppressing the wildlife in the area.

Colder temperatures and dark skies weren't exactly uncommon at eleven o'clock at night, but usually there were all kinds of vocalizations to be heard from the animal inhabitants of a forest. That something was suppressing them meant that what had happened must have had an extraordinary effect on the ecosystem.

He had never had an experience with any of the multitudinous viruses created by the Umbrella Corporation; a pharmaceutical superpower which had once cornered the market on bioweapon. However, he'd had a meeting of sorts with another kind of strange creature once which had nearly cost him his life, which was also ultimately what led him to becoming a B.S.A.A. member.

The contrast between the chaotic, nearly overwhelming wealth of technology and military equipment characterized by the helicopter, and the subtle quietness of the comparatively silent forest below reinforced his conviction for taking part in this mission as their transport flew over the forest, towards the Bright Bat Research Center, their destination.

Vincent turned his attention away from the forest and back to the others in the helicopter with him.

Carlos was looking over their orders, as well as maps of the facility which were, thanks to their lucky stars and the advancement of technology, files on a PDA as opposed to paper maps which he'd had to hold onto. It reminded him of a time when one of his units were traveling to a location via helicopter and one of the newer members of his squad had let go of a map near the side of the craft while its doors was open.

Lucian was cleaning what looked like a Japanese tanto knife with green braiding around the handle, dark green metal hand guard, and what appeared to be a four-leaf clover on the end cap. The amusing little design feature almost made Vincent grin, and he was sure the man had gotten it as a joke from someone at some point in his life.

Billy was the one that contrasted with the two. Despite the fact he had been given weapons, as well as had access to the PDA with the information on it if he chose, the man seemed more committed to sitting in silence, looking like he was just as much in that armored truck now as he had been before. Then again, Vincent couldn't really blame him; essentially he was. The comparison between the literal imprisonment of the truck and the metaphorical imprisonment of his current situation were compounded by the sight of a winding road as they passed it and followed another, towards a large building complex.

The helicopter slowed its speed and circled around the area so that it could reach the helipad which was attached to the building at a slow enough speed to set down. Below them they could see a nearly-filled parking lot, as many cars as there would have been in the daytime. However, unlike a regular "day" instead of large, open windows in the front of the building, thick metal shutters obscured all sight, and blocked all passage, into and out of the building.

"They weren't kidding when they said the building was sealed off. I doubt we could blast our way through that." Lucian commented upon sight of the shutters.

"What do you want to bet that there are dozens of dead tourists on the other side of those shutters?" Billy asked them, his eyes open now.

No one answered his question, despite the fact they had similar expectations.

"Alright, everyone," Carlos began, putting the PDA in a jacket pocket. "we're to assume that Wesker and his team have already made their move. Put your gas masks on until we can be sure there aren't any traces of the virus in the air, and do a weapon check."

Vincent pulled his double eagle semi-automatic pistol out of its holster and checked the weapon, making sure there was a round in the chamber before putting it back in its holster and drawing out his Colt Anaconda, a large, double-action, six-round-cylinder magnum that fired .44 magnum rounds. It had only five bullets in it, with an empty chamber being in front of the chamber so that it wouldn't accidentally discharge a round if struck.

His large bowie knife didn't require a check, since he didn't particularly mind if the ebony and ivory handle was a bit dirty, so long as the grip remained strong when he needed it.

He had no rifle or similar kind of weapon; it wasn't his style, and he had plenty of ammunition for both weapons. As well, from what he understood, zombies didn't require a significant amount of expended ammo to be downed, so long as they were shot in the head.

"Heh, super-powers or not, shoot him with that and I think it should at least knock Wesker's sunglasses off." Murphy joked at the size of the magnum as he put it back in its holster and pulled his gas mask on. The others did likewise after checking their own weapons and, as the helicopter drew down towards the helipad, they readied themselves to leave the craft.

Carlos was the first one out of the helicopter. He landed on the roof of the building and looked around to make sure there weren't any hostiles on the roof itself. Wind collected from the copter's rotors and expanded outwards on the roof like determination as the other operatives exited the helicopter as well. As soon as they were all grounded the helicopter began to rise and veered towards the direction from whence it had come.

Oliveira remained on point as the others formed up on him with Murphy and Coen behind him and to the side, and Clay bringing up the rear. It shouldn't have been necessary for there to be a rear guard when there wasn't any likelihood of nearby combatants, but due to the unpredictable and ever changing nature of B.O.W.s you could never be too cautious.

The operatives made their way across the roof, watching the dark trees in the distance as well as the sky for any signs of movement other than those caused by the wind. Clay had to admit that despite his discipline, he was honestly unsure how he would react when the time came for them to confront actual B.O.W.s; he wouldn't freeze up, that was for sure, but he couldn't help but wonder.

Carlos reached the door to the stairwell and placed his hand on the doorknob. Billy and Lucian formed up on either side, while Vincent aimed the magnum at head level. He nodded and Carlos turned the doorknob before pulling it open quickly. Nothing was there. Billy leaned in towards the door slightly to gaze down the staircase and then drew back, shaking his head to indicate there wasn't any indication of threats.

Oliveira moved in front of the door and the rest of the squad followed him, with Clay closing the door behind him as quietly as possible as they quickly moved down the dark stairwell to a door with a glass block window. He gazed out through it and what he saw caused his brow to draw down slightly.

"What is it?" Murphy asked, his voice muffled by his gas mask..

"I don't see anyone; no zombies, nor tourists, no staff… nothing." Oliveira responded in a whisper.

"Could Wesker and his team have taken them all hostage?" Vincent added.

"No."

It was Billy who'd spoken, and the entire team looked at him.

"From what I could tell, Wesker didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd take hostages. Rather, he'd probably release a bunch of B.O.W.s and turn the people into zombies to slow us down."

"But he isn't supposed to know we're here." Lucian spoke.

"It doesn't matter." Carlos said, once again taking hold of the conversation.

"We'll deal with what presents itself, but we don't have the time to discuss things."

The rest of the team nodded, and Carlos brought out his CQC-7 folding knife and hammered its end against the window until it cracked like thick ice. He struck it a few more times, and the glass fell away, with a few shards landing near their boots as he put the knife away. He moved to different angles of the window to see as much of the inside as he possibly could; it seemed like some sort of security office looking out on a bigger room. He was looking for zombies that would lunge and bite his arm more than he was looking for guys with guns, though. Still, he saw nothing to be concerned with and quickly moved his free arm through the window to unlock the door from the other side and quickly brought back his arm after he'd done so. Carlos nodded, as did the rest of the team, before he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Billy darted through the doorway, covering the right side of the door, while Murphy followed in afterwards and scanned the left side. Vincent and Carlos went through the door almost at the same time and the team decided the area was suitably secure.

"Where are all of the people if Wesker didn't take them hostage?" Vincent wondered.

Carlos tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed his fingers at him and Murphy before aiming to the left of the office. The two soldiers acknowledged the order and moved over to the door, their boots making a squeaking sound.

"Damnit- wait. They didn't make any sound before."

The team gazed at where they'd stepped and, though the lights weren't on, could see a small black pool with boot prints in it. Carlos gave them a look that said "be careful" and they nodded before the entire time formed up on the door and Murphy tried to open it. However, it seemed to be locked, and there didn't appear to be a key in sight.

"Terrific."

Murphy shook his head before hitting the doorknob with the butt of his gun and breaking it off. He unlocked in "manually" and then proceeded to open the door.

Two of the men went right, the other two went left as they swept out across the huge room. Murphy and Clay changed their footsteps to minimize sound and traveled down a hallway with walls made of glass but for necessary support pillars. Up ahead there was some sort of indoor-outdoor room, then the hallway continued to what must have been the lobby. However, because they lights weren't on and the shutters were down, the room was pretty much pitch black. The combat lights on their handguns didn't illuminate the lobby as they weren't heading there quite yet. Instead the shiny tile a couple yards in front of their feet was the subject of their luminescence as they came to the half-room half-patio.

"Everything looks okay so far." Vincent thought, though the floor around the fountain in the middle of the room had splashes of water on it.

The two broke in opposite directions and he headed left while Murphy checked right. The sound of the fountain which was still working helped cover up the minimal noise of their footsteps as he walked down a couple of steps and checked the small park. Aside from the eerie atmosphere, nothing seemed to be wrong, granted the water was too dark right now for him to see anything underneath it, and shining the flashlight didn't do much other than reflect off of it. He did,however, spot something of interest on the grass which seemed more brightly colored than the rest. He aimed his double eagle handgun at it to illuminate it as he drew closer to the object in question; some sort of white material. As he was wearing gloves as well as a gas mask, he didn't hesitate to reach out towards the thing with his free hand and grasp it. Vincent raised it into the air, aiming the combat light at it as he examined the curious thing. It looked like some sort of shirt sleeve, maybe- a light fell upon him, and he whipped around, aiming his handgun at the source of it.

"You drop your hanky?" Murphy asked him, the humor in his accent shining through despite his muffled tone through the gas mask. Vincent sighed as he rose up.

"No, it's some sort of fabric. It looked like a torn sleeve of a shirt."

"Oh well, let's move on."

He nodded and they both exited the small park area and drew near the fountain. As they did so, he noticed something which he hadn't seen before. He pointed at the object beneath the water of the fountain, and Murphy acknowledged that he was going to check it out as he observed the area with his HK33 assault rifle. The object was small and black, with something protruding from one of its sides. He didn't even bother picking it out of the water before classifying it as a camera and thus, of no interest. His attention turned away from the camera and turned around… coming face to face with some guy that looked like a tourist. His clothes were dripping wet, indicating that he had just come out of the water, and his skin was both pale and clammy looking. Water dripped down from his forehead into his white eyes which did not blink as his inhuman gaze rose from the camera that was beneath the water, and fell upon him instead.

"Is this a zombie?" He wondered, gazing at the thing. It didn't look like he'd been bitten, though the white eyes were surely a sign of its having been infected. A light fell upon it as it opened its mouth, the brightness of the combat light making both its teeth and eyes shine brighter than a neon sign. Murphy told him to get down and shot it in the shoulder… its face registered nothing. It didn't so much as wince. Then drool dripped down from its mouth and its breath fogged up his gas mask's lenses as it leapt forward towards his neck.


	9. Second time's the charm

Even from how far away it was, Wesker could hear the gunshot. His face showed no sign of his acknowledgment and the others were not made aware of what he had heard until he spoke.

"It would seem that someone is still alive." Wesker mused out loud. The others gazed at him as they began to exit the panic room.

"How many shots?" Dalca asked him.

"It doesn't matter; there is no cause for concern. The volume of zombies and bioweapons ensures that they will not become a factor."

"And how can you be so sure?" The man challenged him.

"I've dealt with bioweapons almost since their existence, Grigore." He addressed the man informally.

"I am quite familiar with a human's, even a trained one's, ability to combat bioweapons. There are very few who have ever survived so much as one confrontation with them, let alone survived an incident itself. Anyone that manages to survive long enough to meet us will be killed, pure and simple."

With Wesker's declaration of eliminating threats to aid the mission, Grigore seemed to lose his taste for argument.

"Boyd, check to see if the elevator is still working. We will need to access the elevator shaft if we are to further the mission."

"Understood." He responded before drawing the automag from its holster and exiting the office.

"The infection has passed, by the way, you can all take off your gas masks."

They seemed a bit hesitant, but did so as they all proceeded out of the office and down the hall towards the exit.

"So where are we going next?" Morrison requested.

"You didn't pay attention at the debriefing, so you can remain in the dark." Dalca responded.

"That's not fair; I only didn't pay attention because I figured you'd let me read your bibliography of notes on it when needed."

"I'm afraid not."

They exited the extended room and stepped out onto the walkway. Boyd was standing near the elevator and shook his head.

"Sir, the power doesn't seem to be on. I believe the only reason the room is lit is due to auxiliary lighting."

"I see, very well. It looks like we will just have to travel down the elevator shaft manually."

"That's what she said." Morrison chimed in, earning a slight chuckle from Tanner but no one else.

"Just shut up already, will you?" Dalca requested. To which Morrison responded by drawing his auto revolver. Dalca had less time to react, but that didn't stop him from raising his G36K assault rifle and aiming it at the man's face.

"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours." Morrison goaded the man, a mad grin on his face.

"Florence…" Wesker spoke to the white-suited man, causing his grin to turn into a scowl and for him to shift the aim of his gun to the blonde man instead.

"What did you just call me?"

"Do not forget that this mission is much more than an opportunity for you to blow things up. Please consider that."

"And what if I decide to blow your face off instead?"

"If that is your decision…" Wesker spoke before his eyes seemed to glow red behind his sunglasses. Morrison's face cracked into an expression of fear and before he knew it, his gun had fallen on the floor and one of the grenades he kept under his jacket was placed on his forehead as his back slammed up against one of the catwalk's railings.

"Then perhaps I would be inclined to do the same." His voice rolled out as he began to pull the pin on the grenade.

"You… you won't, it'll take you out too."

"Not if I throw it and you off of the catwalk. You'll fall more than far enough for me to be left unharmed."

The pin neared the first of the two holes which held it in place.

"I give you but two choices; cooperate, or die as you've lived."

The pin slid through the hole and threatened to come out the other side.

"Alright!"

"Well chosen." Wesker responded, pushing the pin all the way back through and stepping away from him to the steps of the stairway before walking down them. His coat, he was the only one wearing one, somehow didn't drag on the steps as the black-clad man with the blonde hair descended them.

Grigore lowered his weapon and descended the stairs as well, along with a still-amused Derik. Harley walked over to the man who was still on the railing and picked up the revolver he had dropped before grabbing the grenade off of his head.

"This is a battle zone, Morrison; if you can't get along with your unit, your unit will get along without you." He informed the man, handing him both items before walking down the stairs as well.

"Were you actually going to toss him over the railing and then blow him up?" Tanner asked him casually.

"Of course not." Wesker responded before pushing up his sunglasses.

"The grenade was a smoke bomb; he would have fallen the whole way."

* * *

Red flashed in front of his eyes, and then the zombie fell dead on its side, a bullet hole in its head. Vincent felt ever single one of his pores go into a cold sweat, and then he looked back down the hallway at the shooter; it was Billy. Smoke emanated from the barrel of his M4 carbine for a moment before he lowered it and both he and Carlos came down the hall.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, realizing the grip he'd had on his weapon was so loose he'd almost let go of it.

"Don't be. The first time anyone comes face to face with one of those things, you have a hard time reacting. Now that you know what you're up against, you should be able to deal with it." Billy's deep voice explained to him.

Vincent gazed down at the corpse of the zombie, and his hand tightened on the weapon.

"I will."

"I'm glad we're over that, but we've got bigger problems now, fellas." Lucian told them.

Vincent looked up and noticed that he was aiming down the hall towards the lobby, and saw that in the dark room his light gave just enough illumination for movement to be visible.

"Looks like we found where all of the tourists went." Billy spoke casually as moans began to emanate from the lobby.

"Let's move." Carlos told them before the whole team turned about and double-timed it down the hallway towards the room they'd started out in.

"Where are we going?" Murphy spoke from under his mask.

"The door to the labs is locked with a keycard. The only other places we can go are the tourist facilities and the office!" Carlos responded.

"I say we go to the office; we've got a greater chance of finding a keycard there than we do in the tourist building!" Billy added as they reached the middle of the room and turned around, facing back the way they'd come.

Vincent hadn't been given conclusive information on the physical abilities of zombies, he'd only been told that the only way to kill them was to destroy or severely damage the brain. Because of this, he didn't know what, if anything, he'd expected of them. But regardless he admitted that it unnerved him to see them moving at a brisk walking pace despite the fact they were supposed to be dead; they had already reached the fountain.

"But even if we go in there and find a keycard, we won't be able to get to the door we need to use it on anyway!" Murphy spoke, obviously not happy that the zombies were getting closer.

"It's better than just standing here!"

"I'll go search for a key." Vincent spoke up, gazing down the hallway and bringing an end to the discussion. He broke his stare to look at the rest of the team.

"Look it's better that one of us goes; that way the rest of you can stay here and make sure no zombies get through. If I can't find it we can always all enter the office."

Carlos seemed to consider it for a moment before nodding.

"Alright, go. We'll hold them off."

He nodded and sprinted over to the entrance to the offices. He didn't even bother checking to see if the door was unlocked before he began kicking the doorknob with his boot. After a few solid strikes it fell loose and he rammed his way through the door, scanning the entirety of the black room as best he could with his combat light.

"_Place it'd most likely be… manager's office."_

He ran down the rows of desks, scanning the upcoming aisles in advance to make sure nothing would jump out at him, and headed for the manager's office in the back right corner of the room. He didn't hear any moans emerging from the black stillness of the room, but that didn't mean there wasn't some ghoul lying in wait for him beneath a desk. He reached the end of the row and ran down the wall, past the water cooler and the coffee machine, towards the manager's office. Vincent heard the moans of the zombie office workers just as he nearly ran into the arms of their manager. His body, like many of the other zombies, was almost perfect. It was eerie how realistic some of these-

"_Shut up."_

He raised his double eagle handgun and blew a hole through the pale man's forehead, creating a large, dark hole in his cranium. The force of the blast carried the zombie back into the wall like a gust of wind. His back hit the spot where his brains had been scattered onto the grey wallpaper and he smeared crimson down the wall as he slid to the floor, permanently dead.

"_Not this time." _He thought to both himself and the zombie as he quickly moved over to the desk and opened the drawers, shuffling through them to find what he needed.

Back in the hallway he could hear the cracks of gunfire, and in the office the moans grew greater in number; he knew that if he didn't get his ass moving then the situation was going to get _really _bad. Despite that fact, he couldn't find anything that remotely resembled a high-security keycard.

"_Come on…"_

He stopped searching and tried to think what he'd do… Vincent checked the doorway to the room to make sure no zombie had yet reached the office, and then he knelt down behind the desk and pulled the chair away. He aimed his gun and its combat light at the underside of the desk and, sure enough, there was a card taped to it.

"_Kind of a frugal way to hide something but hell, it's better than it being in a titanium safe that requires some sort of stupid passcode."_

Vincent tore the thing from its hiding place and jabbed it into a pocket on his tactical vest before moving around the desk and heading back towards the main office. He thought about it for a moment before deciding to remain a few feet back from the door. His light illuminated the wall of the cubicle in front of the office and nothing else. Still, that didn't mean there wasn't a ghoul waiting on either side of the doorway.

"Clay!" Carlos shouted from the hallway, signaling that he really didn't have the time to approach this cautiously. Vincent cursed under his breath before leaning to one side to make sure a zombie didn't await on the left, and then he bolted out of the office, swinging his gun and its light to the right side. Two bright white forms and two black forms emerged in his vision before he narrowed it down to merely two silhouettes with shadows. Vincent glanced over his shoulder for any moving shapes and saw three approaching him from the other corner. His gaze retrained on the two zombies that shambled towards him and his weapon barked once, twice. The zombies fell, two new macabre circles of brain, blood and skull fragments decorating the wall behind them. Vincent moved to the corner and turned his vision left towards the door, seeing several more forms in his way and hearing yet more from throughout the room. He didn't have time to take potshots at the four or so figures down the aisle, nor could he afford to go the other way and risk being cornered.

"_Guess I'm just going to have to wing it."_

With that determination he ran down the aisle, shooting at the zombies out in front of him. He downed three of them, no sweat. As he tried to dart around their falling forms, however, something tackled him into the wall from his left side, causing him to drop his gun. All he could see in front of him was a moving humanoid shape. But he could hear it moaning. He could smell the stench of decaying organs emanating from its mouth, and he knew he did not want to end up like this. It pushed in towards his neck and he used its weight against it and swung it down the aisle to his left, into the illumination of his gun's flashlight. He scooped up the weapon and focused the sights on the things skull before *bam*. The aisle flashed and its limp body collapsed. Vincent turned around- and was met with teeth as the zombie he'd seen near the doorway lunged in towards him. Its jaws shone white as they neared his face, and scraped against the hard plastic of his gas mask.

"_Shit."_

He fired, and front of its skull exploded. However, it only succeeded in getting spittle and brain matter all over his mask, effectively blinding him. He pulled the trigger again and the weapon clicked empty as the zombie pushed in again, this time intending to take a bite out of his shoulder. Vincent anchored his feet into the floor and pushed the thing away with both his leg and back muscles. It stumbled away, splattering small bits of skull and blood onto the floor as the armed man holstered his handgun and drew out his bowie knife. It turned towards him ready to charge again, but its ravenous face lost its ferocity when the large knife flew through the air and into its face. There was no question that the knife had done the tricked, but he felt the rotting breath of the zombies he'd seen earlier breathing down on him. Vincent ducked away from them and ran towards the still-standing zombie and rammed into the thing with a shout as he once again emerged into the hall.

"I got it!" He yelled to them while drawing the knife out of the thing's skull, and the other operatives drew back toward him, still firing.

"Use it!" Billy shouted and Vincent threw off his gas mask, sure that there was no risk of airborne virus, as he ran over to the keycard reader and pulled the card from his vest. Vincent swiped the thing through the reader, and his heart skipped a beat as it flashed red.

"_What the…"_

The rest of the team drew over to him and he turned it around before swiping it again, this time the device glowed green and he sighed in relief as he pulled the door open and hoped there wasn't anything on the other side. It didn't matter; they rushed through the doorway all the same, and one of them slammed the thing closed as the rest of them caught a breather for a moment. Billy was the first to recover, and he aimed the light on his weapon down the hallway in front of them to double check whether or not there were indeed threats nearby.

"_Nothing." _Vincent thought to himself as Billy's light illuminated no more than a hallway, two doors, and a large room out in front of them. That didn't mean they were in the clear, but it was a hell of a lot better than being stuck on the other side of that door. The zombies were numerous, but he doubted they would be able to get through that door anytime soon.

Clay stood up and drew out his weapon to reload it as a hand slapped on his shoulder. He looked behind him and saw Lucian grinning. It wasn't his usual expression though, it was a sign of genuine approval.

"You did good, man. Keep it up like that and things'll be just fine." He said.

"Those zombies were getting so close I was starting to turn as green as Murphy over there." Carlos added in.

"Man, you ain't _never _gonna be as green as _me_…sir." He added at the end, causing all of the men to grin with some humor.

He ejected the clip from the handgun and inserted a new one.

"_Yeah, things'll be just fine." _Vincent thought to himself, hoping that he wasn't lying.


End file.
